Three Days' Grace
by Catslynw
Summary: Oneshot tag to Ep 5-14, My Blood Valentine. Dean takes an unexpected journey to the last place on Earth a man hiding from angels should go. Life is weird, as always. Hints of Castiel/Ellen just to fry your brains. *evil grin*


Three Days' Grace

Dean opened his eyes not to the starry night sky over Singer Salvage Yard, but to a clear blue sky and a wide, wide horizon. Looked like a Montana sky in late Spring.

"Hello, Dean. It's good to finally meet you in person." The voice was a woman's but light, heavily accented and completely unfamiliar. Climbing hastily to his feet, Dean turned to face his abductor. He blinked in startlement to find himself confronted by a petite Asian woman with bright blue hair, an eyebrow ring, tattered jeans and a black leather jacket covered in way too many shiny metal studs. Another angel. It had to be, just not like any angel he'd seen before.

"How'd you find me?"

"We didn't," the woman replied, hands clasped out of sight behind her back, making him nervous. "My sisters and I could no more find you in person than any angel could. We're just paying a little dream visit."

"Your sisters?"

She inclined her head to one side, and Dean looked where she'd indicated. Several yards away, on a fallen log, sat two more women. One looked like any long-legged blonde sorority girl in a bikini top and shorts. The other wore a burka, minus the veil. Both watched him with solemn expressions, and bikini-girl was frowning at him in a way that reminded him oddly of Bobby. Dean shifted uncomfortably and turned back the Asian chick… angel. "So, what? I'm being triple-teamed by angels now? You think three of you are enough to convince me to say yes to Michael?"

"We're not here to try and get you to say yes to Michael, Dean. It's not really our area. We're just here because we wanted to speak with you."

"Blondie over there doesn't look like she feels much like talking," he replied. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the angel cross her arms over her chest, the scowl on her face deepening. Clearly, she'd heard him. As he watched, the other angel patted her companion gently on the leg and then placed a voluminous sleeve around her shoulders.

The Asian angel huffed out a laugh. "Yes, well, Hope's a little annoyed with you at the moment. You can hardly blame her. She takes despair kind of personally."

"Hope?"

"The one who looks like she's considering gutting you. My other sister is Charity. I'm Faith."

"Faith, Hope and Charity? You've got to be kidding me."

"Not at all."

"Faith, Hope and Charity?! Seriously? You're angels?"

"Actually, we're graces, but for your purposes it's close enough to the same thing."

"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades," he said disparagingly.

She shrugged.

"All right, you're here. So what do you wanna talk about?"  
"You, Dean. I want to talk about you." So saying, she reached out with one hand and tapped him on the forehead with two fingers before he could dodge.

Where ever she'd taken him this time, it was dark. "Where are we now?" he demanded. The space was shadowy, almost pitch black, but he could sense that it was small, and it echoed hollowly when he spoke.

"We're in Vatican City, in the Sistine Chapel. It seemed an appropriate place for our little discussion." The angel began to glow softly, giving off enough light for Dean to just make out the rectangular shape of the room, the high ceiling, the countless murals on the walls and her two sisters seated on the steps nearby. Huh, he'd never been out of the continental United States before, and here he was in Rome of all places. Life was just weird.

"Why here?" he asked.

"I suppose you could say I was hoping the ambience might… inspire you."

Dean snorted. "Well, there's your first big mistake, sister, because I'm not Catholic."

"It's not about being Catholic, Dean, or Christian or any other specific religion. It's about what my brother Lucifer would call human folly: persistence against overwhelming odds, hope in the face of certain defeat, and faith that – no matter how things turn out – what you do makes a difference even if you can't see it."

"I'm supposed to get all that from a painted ceiling?" Dean asked skeptically.

Faith smiled, and as she did, more lights came on around the room, illuminating the frescos above them with a radiant glow. "Michelangelo's work has inspired countless millions across the world, Dean. Why not you?"

"I'm not really much of an art lover, and if I want a Bible story, I'll go look at a Bible, or some other book of fairy tales."

"That's okay," Faith said, her eyes crinkling up in a smile. "It's not so much about what he painted as about the fact that he painted it at all. You see, by all reason and logic, this amazing ceiling should never have been finished. When Michelangelo painted the Sistine – it took four years, by the way – the Holy Roman Empire was practically non-existent, the Pope had lost all but a few loyal troops, the Catholic Church had been abandoned by its allies and Rome itself was frequently under siege. The invaders were burning every symbol of the church, ever image of faith that they came across if it had even the slightest connection to Julius."

Dean raised a forestalling hand. "Julius?" he asked. "As in Caesar?"

Faith looked at him askance. "Pope Julius II," she corrected.

"Okey dokey," Dean said.

Clearing her throat, she went on. "Michelangelo labored to finish this ceiling, this masterwork, all the while living in the certainty that it would be destroyed utterly and probably within days of its completion… and he hadn't even wanted to paint it in the first place."

"That's just nutty," Dean said, looking up at the ceiling with rising interest despite himself.

"No, that's just human."

"Same difference," Dean replied.

"Perhaps. "

"So…"

"So, you've had a bad week."

Dean laughed. "Lady, that's got to be just about the greatest understatement of all time," he said, beginning to walk around the perimeter of the room, looking up at the paintings that covered walls and ceiling. They were pretty, kind of hideous some of them, but pretty.

"Your encounter with Famine, it upset you."  
"Tell me something I don't know already."

"Your friend Castiel was more than halfway to falling in love with Ellen Harvelle when she died," Faith answered without missing a beat.

"What?" Dean spluttered, whirling back around to face the angel.

"You said to tell you something that you didn't know," she said innocently.

"You're making that up," he retorted, his irritation only increased by knowing that he sounded like an eight-year-old. "You're here to talk about Cas and Ellen?" And didn't that just boggle the mind?

"No," she replied instantly. "As much as it's going to annoy you, I'm here to talk to you about faith."

"Forget it, honey. I've got none. God's either a myth or an asshole. Either way, faith goes right out the window."

Faith rolled her eyes. "No windows in here, Dean. Besides, there are all kinds of faith."

"What, no charity and hope?"

"Charity is just another word for love, Dean, and you don't really need a pep talk in that area. It's the one thing you've always had in abundance. Love for your family, your father, your brother, your friends. Love for perfect strangers, all of humanity. It's your strength, Dean. It's what makes you the righteous man, that love. In fact, you love just about everyone but yourself, and that will come, eventually." Dean squirmed where he was standing, turning his back on the angel even as he tried to shut his mind to her words. Talk about saccharine and embarrassing. Sheesh. She made him sound like some religious wacko. No, wait… but Faith wasn't done. "As for hope," she continued, "as I said earlier, she's a little peeved with you. You've kind of given up, and she just takes that sort of thing as a personal affront you know? Still, if you'll forgive the pun, she's hoping that you'll see the light."

"Ouch. No forgiveness for bad puns," Dean said, scowling now himself. Why couldn't the angels just keep their feathery little fingers out of his psyche? How he felt, or didn't feel, was none of their damn business.

Faith raised her eyebrows, but let the pun thing drop. Instead, she walked over and reached up to put one delicate hand on his shoulder. "The truth is we're kind of a package deal. They're here because I'm here, and I needed to talk to you."

"About faith?"

"Yes. You see, I know you've lost yours."

"The God thing again? I told you, I never had any to start with."

The angel sighed. "There are all kinds of faith, Dean, not just in God. And you had faith for a long time: faith in your father, in his strength, his wisdom, his knowledge. Faith in your brother, that he was a good person, an honest, decent person. Frankly, you always had more faith in them than in yourself. Faith in other hunters, too, like Bobby and Ellen and Jo. Faith in hunting itself, that is was the right thing to do, that it had meaning, a purpose, that it made a difference. Faith in the existence of good itself. You had more faith than a dozen ordinary men, Dean. But lately, you've lost your faith."

Dean grimaced. "So what's it to you? You going to give me some kind of cosmic punishment for not toeing the line?"

She sighed again, rolling her eyes in a way totally in keeping with the vessel she wore. "I'm not here to chastise you, Dean, or punish you or take you to task in any way. I'm just – I wanted to reassure you that your faith isn't _really_ gone. You see, even if you've lost faith in the rest of us, we still have faith in you. Your father had faith in you until the day he died and beyond. He knew in his heart that you were a good man. He knew that you'd always take care of your brother and that you were the only one who could save Sam, the only one who could keep him safe from the darkness within him."

"But I didn't save him," Dean choked out. "I failed. I couldn't help him and he started the apocalypse."

"Yes. Yes, he did, and that may seem as bad as it can get, but it's not. Think about it, Dean. How many people can come back from that? To stare into that abyss, to go the very edge of true darkness, true evil and be pulled back… that's a miracle in and of itself. Sam gave in to the darkness inside him, but he came back, and he's still here, still fighting to make what he did right. He's still standing beside you. What happened with Sam and Famine, that was a victory, Dean. Sam faced temptation, face _overwhelming_ temptation, and in the end he made the right choice. Your faith in him was rewarded. You should be proud."

"I am proud of him. I just – "

"It hurts you to see him hurting," she said, as if finishing his thoughts for him aloud. "There's that love we were talking about. Sam loves you as much as you love him, Dean. More, he has faith in you. It's in large part because of his faith in you that he's still trying, still fighting even when it seems hopeless. He believes that even if you both fail to stop the Apocalypse, that by following you, by following his big brother's lead, he knows he'll be doing the right thing. He has faith in your judgment. You're his salvation, Dean. You always were. As long as he has faith in that, has faith in your love for him, he'll never say yes to Lucifer, fate or no fate."

Dean gulped, turning his eyes ceiling-ward and staring blindly at the frescoes painted their so long ago. Could she be right? Could that really be all it took to keep Sam on the straight and narrow, to keep his baby brother safe?

"Bobby has faith in you too. If he didn't, he wouldn't still be here. I think you know what I mean. He doesn't really believe that your side is going to win, but he sticks around because he believes in you. He has faith that you'll give it your all and that maybe, just maybe if he sticks around and helps you, you might be able to pull it off. He doesn't expect you to tote all this weight alone. He just hopes that, with a little help, you will be able to tote it."

"Bringing Bobby into this is low, even for an angel," Dean snapped, turning about and searching for a door. "Where's exit from this place?"

"It's a dream, Dean. You can't leave so you might as well hear me out," Faith said, appearing directly in front of him. "Other people have faith in you too. Ellen, Jo, Andy, your mother, so many people you've lost, in this life at least, they all had faith in you and they still do. Someday, you'll be able to hear them say it for yourself."

"So a bunch of dead people are in my corner. Whoopdee."

"Castiel has faith in you, Dean. Don't even try to tell me that that doesn't mean something to you."

Dean flinched. It meant a lot, meant everything because it was Cas's faith in him that had gotten the angel first killed and then outcast from Heaven. It was because of him that Castiel was running on batteries and running for his life. How Dean could ever pay him back for –

"Are you hearing me, Dean Winchester, or are you too busy feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Hey!" he exclaimed, outraged.

"Dean, Castiel believes in you. Even when he lost faith in Heaven, he never lost faith in you, and because of that, he never lost faith in God. Like Sam, you are Castiel's hope of salvation. You are the reason he hasn't given up. He may have been disappointed that you didn't stop Sam from killing Lilith, but he doesn't blame you for that. He blames himself because he put you in that situation, because he helped to create it by separating you and Sam, by deceiving you both. He regrets that more than he can say, more than you'll ever know, but he doesn't stick around out of guilt. He stays because he has faith that you, as the righteous man, will stop this. Despite everything, despite Heaven's betrayal, despite his brothers' perfidy, he has hope. He believes that God created you for a purpose. He believes in you, and through you, in humanity. When he looks at you, he sees a man with faults, a man who's made mistakes, but he also sees God's plan. He sees what humanity could be, what angels could become, and he sees that all things are possible. It's a terrible thing for an angel to lose their faith, but you gave it back to him through your friendship, your forgiveness and your courage. _You_ give an _angel_ faith, Dean. That makes two miracles, just in case you're keeping score."

"Bite me," he growled.

"Not now." She grinned, waggling her eyebrows at him. "Hell, Dean, even a reaper has faith in you, or didn't you notice that Tessa completely failed to put in an appearance in Carthage? You think the big daddy reaper's going to ignore a little thing like that? She's picked her side, and it's you."

"Tessa's in trouble?" he asked, concerned.

Faith waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "She can take care of herself. Don't worry." Then, growing solemn once more, she said, "God has faith in you, Dean. I know he does because, I'm sort of the expert on the subject. Nobody knows faith better than me. So when I tell you that our Father believes in you, you can take my word for it. I know you're tired. I know your faith is tired and that you're having trouble carrying this load, especially when you feel so alone, but the truth is you haven't _really_ lost your faith. You can't lose it because we're holding onto it for you. Even if you can't carry it any more, we can, and we'll carry that faith for you until you're ready to pick it up again. You may have lost faith in yourself, but we haven't, and as long as we believe, as long as _we_ have faith in you, Dean, _your_ faith is safe. So don't despair. Don't give up. Just keep fighting. Keep trying. Keep doing what you believe is right. Everything you do _matters_. Even if you should lose, that you fought so hard to protect everyone – even those you've never met, even those who would consider you crazy and dangerous – it matters, Dean. It makes a difference. Oh, and Hope wants me to let you know that victory _is_ still possible. Even fate can be overcome with love and faith and hope."

"Well, that's great. Wonderful pep talk, but I don't see how it's going to help."

"You're tired. I know that, and that's why I've come, not just to talk to you, but to answer your prayer."

"What?"

"You asked for help, Dean, and that's what I – what we've come to give you. We can't really help with the whole apocalypse thing. It's not really our purview and we don't have that kind of power. We can't stop Lucifer or Michael, we can't force Gabriel to get off the fence or Rafael to stop whining or Zachariah to stop being an ass, but what we can give, we will give. As much as I'd like to have faith that those things will happen, I can't make them happen. But I can give you something. Three days' grace."

"Huh?"

"Three days' grace. Three days to rest, to recover, without fear of attack or danger, without fear of death or taxes. For three days nothing can touch you, Bobby, Sam or Cas. For three days, Singer's Salvage will be as a world unto itself. Three days' grace, one from each of us. It's all we can do. Take care of your brother, take care of yourself, and take care of your friends. And above all, Dean, have faith."

Dean glanced over at the other two angels as Faith finished speaking. They were watching him once more with equally solemn expressions, and Hope seemed to have lost some of her hostility. Maybe she could sense what Dean himself was only just beginning to feel deep within, a resurgence of hope. He started to turn back to Faith, to thank her, yell at her, whatever, but he saw only two fingers coming at him, and then he knew no more.

Someone was shaking him. Dean grumbled and rolled onto his back, cringing as the gravel of Bobby's drive poked into his back. "Dean, hey! Dean, are you okay?" Opening his eyes, Dean saw his little brother staring down at him in concern, his eyes practically dewy with it, and he smiled.

"Yeah, Sam. I think I am."


End file.
